My one thought was of Ella. I cared nothing for myself, but was filled with chagrin that just at the moment when I ought to be active in rescuing her from the trap into which she had fallen I had been reduced to impotence. Through the whole night I lay awake thinking of her. Twice we were disturbed by the police bringing in "accidents," and then towards morning, tired out, I at length fell asleep. My weakness was amazing. I could hardly lift my hand from the coverlet, while my brain was muddled so that all my recollections were hazy. I was, of course, still in custody, for beside my bed a young constable dozed in his chair, his hands clasped before him and his tunic unloosened at the collar. Just, however, before I dropped off to sleep another constable stole in on tiptoe and called him outside. Whether he came back I don't know, for I dozed off and did not wake again until the nurse came to take my temperature, and I found it was morning. I was surprised to see that the constable was no longer there, but supposed that he had gone outside into the corridor to gossip, as he very often did. At eleven o'clock, however, the inspector came along the ward, followed by two men in plain-clothes, evidently detectives. "Well," he commenced, "I've made some inquiries, and I must apologise, sir, for doubting your word. Still suicides tell us such strange tales that we grow to disbelieve anything they say. You notice that you're no longer in custody. I withdrew the man at five this morning as soon as I had ascertained the facts." "Have you found that fellow Himes?" "We haven't been to look for him yet," was the inspector's reply. "But--" And he hesitated. "But what?" I asked. "Well, sir, I hardly think you are in a fit state to hear what I think I ought to tell you." "Yes. Tell me--tell me everything." "Well, I'll do so if you promise to remain quite calm--if you assure me that you can bear to hear a very extraordinary piece of news." "Yes, yes," I cried impatiently. "What is it? Whom does it concern?" He hesitated a moment, looking straight into my eyes. "Then I regret to have to give you sad news, concerning your friend." "Which friend?" "Mr Miller. He is dead." "Miller dead!" I gasped, starting up in bed and staring at him. "He died apparently from the effects of something which he partook of at the house of this American." "And Lucie, his daughter?" "She is well, though prostrated by grief. I have seen and questioned her," was his answer. "She is greatly distressed to hear that you were here." "Did you give her my message?"